


White Wine Bitter Sunlight

by thranduilteax



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, haymitch abernathy - Freeform, haysilee, i also really don't like this fic of mine, im sorry i suck at tagging, maysilee donner - Freeform, thg, title inspired by beating heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2400530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thranduilteax/pseuds/thranduilteax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haymitch still isn't over what happened during his Games and memories of Maysilee still torture him. One shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Wine Bitter Sunlight

_More whiskey..._ I groan and collapse onto the carpet. _Had to stop myself. ..Been thinking too much again... Need more alcohol._

           Taking a swig from the nearly empty bottle, I cough. It tastes sour yet comforting and before I know it, I'm dreaming. 

            Memories flash by me- my mother baking in the kitchen, the reaping, her stricken and pale face, the bloody games, Maysilee, pain, the year after our Games- sending those two kids to their imminent deaths, memories becoming ghosts- shadows of the brutality and pain, haunting me constantly… Giving up and in to drink, tortured by something that had happened over two years ago. I doubted I would ever get over it.

           Then the face of a beautiful lady. Maysilee, smiling at me. I looked at her blearily, trying to discern if she was real or if this was another nightmare I would wake up from, screaming and kicking. She approached me, seeming like she was floating rather than walking. She looked just as she did when I first met her- innocent, young, beautiful as ever… But more confident now. She reached out a pale hand and I jerked away from her, bewildered. _How could this be? May died in the games._ “Don’t,” Maysilee murmured, caressed my face gently before settling down next to me. “Maysilee?” I asked, my voice thick. "Haymitch... I'm sorry. I didn't want to leave you..." Her long legs are crossed and the tube from which she shot the poison darts in our Games is slung across her back. I recalled our last few moments together.  The blood and the- "No. Maysilee. You- you're-- dead." The last word falls from my lips and seems to hang in the air. “You’ve been dead for months. I- I- What is this? Are you alive?”

            “Haymitch." Maysilee simply says, and tears spring to her eyes. “I… No. I’m not. I did die.” “Then why…how… How are you here?” “I can’t explain "But I figured I couldn’t keep this off much longer.” She sighed, a soft sound. “Keep what off, May?”  Silence filled the air. “I never did get to say it, did I?” She murmured, lip quivering slightly. Then I understood. “I don’t think you did, May.” I replied, sliding my hand over hers. “I love you.” She says, and her eyes are salvation and desperation, love and sadness. “I'm-I'm sorry.” She continues, tears glassing over her eyes. “For leaving you, I mean. I wanted you to win. Ever since. I didn't want to live with the knowledge that you were gone... And thank you. For protecting me when-" Her voice broke, and I tentatively stroked her hair. 

            “Calm down, May, calm down." I soothed her. _Just like our first two nights in the games_ , I remembered. I embrace her and she buries her face in my shoulder. She's crying softly. "I'm sorry too, May." I whisper. 

            Maysilee sniffles and hands me something the color of white wine. It's a handkerchief, her token from her district. The one she told me she wanted me to have if she died. The one she was buried with. A small, bittersweet smile crossed my lips at the memory, and I wrap my hand around it. “I love you,” She says again, and there are tears in her eyes as she rises and kisses me lightly on my lips.

            I wake up with a jolt. Through the bitter sunlight streaming in the grimy window, I see that in one hand is my knife, and in the other, a crumpled white handkerchief. 

 

 

 


End file.
